


for this foolish man mine heart doth break

by TreeNostalgia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Multi, Red Plague, Suffering, and also, anyway, decisions are made and they might be dumb but it works out I guess??, it might not be obvious in the fic but Nisha is albino btw, like she’s got the whole shebang.. sensitive eyes and skins, oh!!!!, pasty pale with red eyes, set before count Lucio becomes a goatman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeNostalgia/pseuds/TreeNostalgia
Summary: Nisha, not yet Asra’s amnesiac apprentice, and currently Court Sorceress has contracted the Red Plague. As she lays dying Julian and Asra are determined to do..... well, something about that. A spell goes not quite as planned and another must be cast.





	for this foolish man mine heart doth break

It is late into the night when Asra and Doctor Devorak are finally able to visit Nisha in her chambers.

There’s a new blanket on Nisha’s bed, and Nisha herself is wearing a different nightgown from the day before. Both are lovely.

Asra smiles softly with a small amount of amusement. “Nadi’s been by, hasn’t she?” he asks as he steps ever closer to the bedridden court sorceress, until, finally, he is standing at her bedside.

Julian dithers in the doorway, anxious to see Nisha but heartsick about her condition. Red Plague. It makes her pale skin positively gray, and her eyes a nearly solid red, sclera to already red iris. He can’t think of any way that medicine can help her, anymore.

Nisha groans into a little laugh. “Oh, yes. Dear Countess Nadia has taken it upon herself to see that I get every creature comfort I could ask for,” she says with a smile and wince. “Dear, _dear_ woman.”

“You’re in pain,” Asra says, eyebrows pinched with worry.

“Sweetheart, Asra, I’m always in pain now,” Nisha tells him with a weak smile. It is not at all reassuring.

“I could…” Asra hesitates while he thinks rapidly over what would be best to alleviate the full-body aches Nisha has been experiencing. “I could make you tea,” he settles on with no enthusiasm to speak of.

Julian finally slinks into the room and out of the doorway.

The breath Nisha takes in is long and careful, so as not to agitate her lungs. “I would like that, thank you,” she says on a sigh.

The smile that Asra gives is soft and despairing as he almost reaches out his hand to gently brush some of Nisha’s hair from her face. He stops himself in time, but still finds himself disappointed that he can’t even touch her anymore. Asra clenches his hand into a fist and returns it to his side.

“I’ll be back soon, Nisha,” Asra says after a deep breath. His eyes flick to Julian, who has finally joined him at Nisha’s bedside. “Ilya will keep you company in the meantime.”

“I’ll be here,” Nisha replies cheekily.

Asra leaves, and Nisha turns her attention to the plague doctor.

“Hello, Doctor Jules,” she says. She gestures weakly with one hand to the lovely sofa chairs Nadia had moved into her bed chamber from her sitting room for visitors. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Julian sits stiffly. He coughs nervously into his fist and clears his throat before speaking, voice sounding strained, “Good evening, Nisha.”

Nisha sighs. “How are things? With the Count?” she asks.

“No changes,” Julian answers. He wets his lips in a nervous gesture and leans forward, arms braced on his thighs. He then asks, “How are you feeling, Nisha? And don’t— don’t downplay it. I know you don’t want others to worry, but I am your acting physician, and I need to know the truth.”

“‘Don’t downplay it,’ you say? Very well.” Nisha takes in another long, careful breath, then exhales it just as carefully. She does not look at Julian as she answers his query. “I am dying, and I suspect that I will not last the week.”

Julian sputters a little. Perhaps Nisha has been too truthful. “P-pardon? Nisha?”

Still not looking at the doctor, Nisha’s eyes become glassy and the look on her face vulnerable. “I can hardly eat. Nothing much stays down anymore, and whatever liquids that do, end up sweated right out.” She turns her head and tears tinged red drip over the edges of her eyes to leave pink trails down her cheek and over her nose. Her voice is small. “I feel terrible and I am going to die, Jules.”

——————————————————————

When Nisha succumbs to sleep, Julian and Asra leave her to her slumber, and Julian keeps the conversation he had with Nisha to himself until after breakfast the next morning. They are in the library. The doors have closed behind the magician and doctor duo when Asra speaks, staring blankly out at the many shelves.

“Her condition’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?” Asra says, tone flat and blank, like he is trying to keep the words from affecting him. (But they do, and it hurts so much he wants to run away.)

There is no reason to name who they are speaking about. Both know it could only be Nisha.

A shaky breath is drawn into Julian’s lungs before he answers somberly, “Yes. Much worse.” He swallows the lump that forms in his throat. “She told me that— that she is dying, and that she suspects she won’t last another week.”

They are both silent for a long, drawn out moment. Asra lets out a breath that sounds like he is trying very much not to cry, then strides forward toward the furthest shelves in the library.

Julian follows at Asra’s heels, and, unable to stand the silence any longer, he begins to ramble.

“There must be some way to cure the plague,” Julian says, “Some medicine, some _spell_ or _ritual_ or _something_. What use is magic if it can’t heal a pesky plague? Not that I’ve had much luck on my _non-magical_ end, but still!”

“Ilya,” Asra says, and he means for it to come out sharply but he is too distraught in the moment to make it sound right.

“You know, if— if I could take the Red Plague out of her—“

“ _Ilya_ —“

“—and take it on _myself_ , I would do it!”

Asra’s mouth is open, frozen in the ready-to-yell-at-Ilya position as Julian’s words sink in. Slowly, Asra’s mouth closes. He turns to the man behind him and eyes him critically.

“Do you mean that?” Asra asks.

Julian meets Asra’s eyes; they are hard, yet vulnerable, in the way a cracked mirror is in the moment before falling, shattered, from the frame. (Asra has always been beautiful like that, he notes.) Julian swallows hard, but he does not hesitate in his answer. Stumbles, but does not hesitate.

“Yes,” Julian says, breathless, “For you, for _her_ , if it would _save her life_ — I would do it in a heartbeat.”

Asra wraps his arms around himself and looks away from Julian. “Then… I have an idea.”

The rest of the day is dedicated to finding a spell that will do as Asra intends— to transfer the Red Plague from one person to another. To completely remove the illness from Nisha, and give it to a willing recipient.

And it is not that Asra wants to hurt Julian, but… he offered. Julian presented a solution, unknowingly, and then offered to give his life for Nisha’s.

Love is blinding.

This Asra is well aware of. It is bright, and grows brighter and brighter, and it can consume a person. It can be frightening, and exhilarating, and warm, and comforting all at once.

It’s late when Asra finds something close enough that he latches onto it. It’s a ritual called _Transference of Bodily Injury_ , and requires several complicated glyphs and the blood of the wounded party and the recipient to work. He is confident that if he just changes little parts of it he can get it to work the way he and Julian want.

The next day Asra works on the ritual, fitting it into the mold he wants. Until _Transference of Bodily Injury_ becomes _Transference of Bodily Harm_. It seems such a small change in the end, but it means the world, if it works. And it should work. Illness fits within the parameters of “bodily harm”, or so Asra intends, and with magic, intent is everything.

——————————————————————

“She’ll never agree to it, Asra,” Julian says, because it’s true and they both know it, and it tears them both apart. “You know she won’t.”

“I know,” Asra says, arms pressed tight against his stomach, hands gripping opposing elbows. “I _know_. But she’s dying.”

His voice shakes.

“Ilya, I can’t—“ Asra’s voice breaks and he can’t speak further. He doesn’t have the words.

Julian is sure that any words he could give Asra would be inadequate, but he tries anyway.

“You won’t lose her,” Julian tries softly, resolute.

They’ve been avoiding Nisha’s name because it hurts too much, and Asra looks like he could fall apart at any moment. Julian certainly feels like _he_ could fall apart at any moment.

“You said,” Julian starts, then stops to clear his throat, “You said that the… recipient must be willing, right? For the— the magic ritual thing to work? Right? Right. So she doesn’t necessarily _have_ to agree.”

The notion is dubious. It is… frowned upon to work magic on the unwilling, without consent. Though healing magic does tend to have exceptions, such as if the patient is not sound of mind, or is unconscious, or insensate. It’s very similar to the rules of non-magical healing.

Julian grips his right arm tightly with his left hand. “We could wait until she is… asleep,” he says.

“That could work,” Asra says just loudly enough that Julian can hear him.

——————————————————————

“Does it really have to be on my throat, Asra?” Julian asks.

Asra has already explained that the placement of the ritual symbol is crucial, so Julian gets that. Sort of. He’s just confused about Asra’s reasoning for where on his person Asra has decided on.

Asra lifts the delicate brush higher away from Julian’s skin and gives the doctor a withering look for speaking, for disturbing his canvas so to speak. Julian, on his back on a table for the application of the first part of the spell, looks sheepishly up at Asra looming above him. His shoulders shrug up close to his reddening ears and he says, “I just… don’t understand? Why my neck?”

Asra’s eyebrows rise higher up his forehead, and Julian falls silent, taking the hint. Julian forces his body to relax and remain still, so that Asra lowers the brush to paint the interlocking glyphs. The magician answers in a distracted tone, “You have a powerful voice, Ilya. Your words are… persuasive. Even charming. So the symbols must be placed where your voice originates for the best chance of success.”

There are too many things that Julian wants to say to that, but he can’t. Not yet. Not while Asra is still working. So instead he watches Asra’s face with keen interest. Asra’s hair hangs in fluffy curls that frame his face, his eyebrows are drawn together in an expression of concentration, and his teeth are pressed into his bottom lip as he delicately drags the brush over the sensitive skin of Julian’s throat. Julian feels too aware of Asra, especially in this proximity. And the cold swiping of the blood-inked brush is absolutely not helping.

When the first part of the spell, the magic circle written in ink and Julian’s blood, is finished, they go to Nisha’s chambers. This late into the evening she is asleep, exhaustion pulling her deep into unconsciousness.

——————————————————————

The feeling of a pin-prick to the tip of her finger is what begins to stir Nisha into wakefulness. It’s so brief and such a small amount of pain compared to Red Plague body aches that Nisha dismisses it as nothing. Maybe just a splinter from the bedpost. Then she begins to hear voices, and at first she thinks she’s dreaming.

“That’s not nearly as much blood as you took from me,” Julian’s voice says in a whisper.

“We don’t _need_ as much from her as we did from you,” says Asra’s voice, hushed.

For a moment she thinks she’s Dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d Dreamt of Julian or Asra. First time she’d Dreamed of them both at the same time, though.

“So now I just…?” Julian.

Nisha feels a light pressure on her forehead and on her chest. Warm. Like hands.

“Yes.” Asra. “There is good. And now… you use your will to…”

“Right. Right, all right, easy enough.” Jules again. “Just _will_ the deadly illness out of her and into myself. Perfect. I signed up for this. This had better work.”

It’s when Nisha feels magic (almost Asra’s but also very much Not Asra) that she actually stirs, that she begins to comprehend that she isn’t asleep anymore. It pulls. Tugs. Slides. It feels like there is red tar within her and it is being siphoned out. It’s clumsy and (warm, like hands on her forehead and chest) it hurts, but the hurt is less and less until Nisha feels no pain anymore.

Her eyes snap open, and she is a lot more awake than she’s been in weeks.

Looming above Nisha is Julian. His sclera are crimson and his skin is ashy and slick with sweat. He looks on the verge of collapse. But he’s smiling down at her. It looks like triumph and relief. His teeth are showing.

There is a magic circle pulsing red at his throat.

“What have you done?” Nisha croaks, despair and disbelief in her tone and eyes.

Julian licks his lips and steps away from Nisha’s bedside, stumbling as vertigo hits him. She pulls herself up into a sitting position while he says, “Sorry, but it was the only way to save you.”

He sounds a little dazed.

Asra is there at Julian’s side, supporting the dizzy doctor.

“Asra? What— what did the two of you _do_?”

As Asra assists Julian into a chair he answers with some chagrin, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we _cured_ you but—“

“—we cured you!” Julian cuts Asra off. The doctor sways. While sitting. “Of the Red Plague. Mmmmmm ah, sort of. Was it always this hard to keep your eyes open?”

Nisha throws back her covers to get out of bed, surprised at how much energy she has without the Plague bogging her down. Her knees almost give out beneath her but Nisha flings her arms around the nearest bedpost and manages to keep her feet. Once she has her bearings again, Nisha storms to Julian’s unoccupied side.

“You _absolute idiots_! Was that a Transference spell?” Nisha shouts all in one breath.

Yes, Nisha is no longer about to die by Red Plague and she should be elated, but Julian is looking worse by the moment and she’s pretty sure that the shock of going from healthy to advanced stages of Plague is actually going to kill him in her bedchamber, and very, very soon.

Asra looks to Nisha with surprise. Surprise at her raised voice, and that she’d guessed the spell so quickly.

“Yes,” Asra answers. “What— uh, why?”

While Nisha flutters about the continuously and increasingly delirious Julian, she says, “Because there’s a reason why healers don’t use those spells anymore! And it is _exactly this_!” Nisha gestures at Julian’s quickly worsening condition. “He’s dying, Asra!”

Julian’s head lolls on his neck so he can squint up at Nisha, and he gives her an approximation of a smile. “It’s— hrhrm— it’s fine, darling Nisha. I knew— I knew what I was getting into here. With this, this uh, spell thing. Pretty much. That I’d likely die for it. For you.”

And this is when tears form in Nisha’s eyes, and spill over, down her cheeks, her neck. Her gaze shifts between the two others in her bedchamber, between doctor and magician. One a delirious, dying mess, the other apologetic and guilty.

“How dare you? How dare you make this choice for me? I was ready. I was _ready_.”

“I’m sorry, Nisha,” Asra whispers, running a hand through his hair, “I couldn’t— I couldn’t let you die like this. And I didn’t know— I didn’t realize it would hit him… so hard. I thought—“ He stops, jaw working, trying to find words to give Nisha. “I thought there would be time to find a true cure.” He can’t look her in the eyes anymore.

Nisha turns back to the dying Doctor Devorak, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and leans close to examine the magic circle that is slowly fading, but still an aggressive red. She swipes at her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown. Nisha’s mind is racing, trying to find a solution, something, anything she can do. Asra’s circle can work as a foundation, this she can take advantage of, and then—

Words start to form, ready to leap from Nisha’s tongue, imperfect, but workable. They dance around the circle, not yet visible, but still tangible. Felt as well as heard. This is the way spells can work for Nisha. The words come to her, and she gives them life when she speaks them.

_For this foolish man mine heart doth break_  
_From Death’s door his soul shall take_  
 _Folly given form in mortality cease_  
 _Find from suffering swift release_

Nisha speaks them quickly, frantic, as if the words themselves are racing from her mouth, eager to exist.

She seals the spell with a kiss to the circle on Julian’s throat.

There is a great flash of white light, blinding. When it fades Nisha is still hunched awkwardly over the arm of the chair and Julian, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. Her legs are shaking and she has one fist gripping Julian’s shirt, the other holding tight to Asra’s hand.

She is muttering, begging.

“Please, please, let it be enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like Julian is immortal now?? Whoops! Probably shouldn’t tell Lucio about this........


End file.
